Before he begins eating, Garty beckons for the first person to come over and share her information quietly. Everybody’s eyes follow her process. This is not how he wants the interviews to progress. He smiles and nods at the folk staring at him to indicate that he can see them too. They immediately look elsewhere a little embarrassed, Garty reckons.
“Mrs Bouchée, is it possible to give all these people a hot drink and some of your wonderful bread and honey?” He stares as he speaks, so she will hear him. She is staring straight at him now, listening carefully, he notes. Immediately he makes a generous gesture, “I shall fit the bill, be assured of that,” he adds, wondering how on earth am I going to do so, but I am determined. Miracles did happen around him from time to time, and he desperately needed one this week!
A happy buzz erupts and then silence as Mrs Bouchée gazes at the crowd. She has never had to cater for so many folk in this town since the great flood twenty years ago. Her lips are dry and her heart pumps speedily but she gathers her wits about her.
For this moment she was born, ponders Garty!
“Certainly, Sir Garty Mudso Commander,” she says in a halting voice, choosing her words carefully.
“Staff, please bring hot drinks or apple juice to everyone here. Please add everything to the Knight Commander’s account at his bidding!”
“Here, take one of these pieces of bread,” he offers the first woman who sits on the wooden chair with its velvety padding. Gladly, she takes up the offer. “Take the apple juice too,” he pleads, while he sips hot, dark strong coffee.
I need the boost to my energy, and this drink is superb.
The woman slurps her juice as if she is parched with thirst. She smacks her lips and smiles, showing gaps in her front teeth. He knows that many folk may have had nought to eat that day, so considers his gesture a necessary service to the town. To gain information, Garty knows deep down the folk must be well fed, not fed up. He has learned this lesson recently and applies it to this very day.
“Thank you for turning up. I appreciate anything you can tell me relating to this mystery,” he says, waiting for her to wipe her lips.
She leans forward and he can smell her breath, fresh apple juice and other aromas he was not familiar with. He does not flinch! Determination has taken him thus far and he was still adamant in seeking the truth! For years he had endured so much that it was impossible to comprehend all the misinformation around the country.
The woman seems relaxed and relates information about voices she heard in the woods in the month the child disappeared.
Garty faithfully writes everything down and records her particulars too. He quickly makes a brief sketch next to her information, noting her eyes are dark brown, sun kissed skin, long angular features, high forehead, cows lick hairline on her temple, auburn hair, some greying.
She watches him intently, loving every moment of her fame and the small fortune he slips into her long, bony hand, partly covered in a black fingerless glove.
And so the queue of folk progresses, each one in their own time and with their individual confidential information. By lunch time Garty is exhausted and wishes that he had never offered a reward for information. He had distributed over twenty silver coins and knew Mrs Bouchée would require a dozen gold coins to pay for her servants and service.
Lunch was a relief but short lived. Mrs Bouchée personally came to his table and presented Garty with fresh bread and home made jam.
Garty could smell the aroma of the bakers in the kitchen baking bread non stop.
Mrs Bouchée insisted that he take a break of fifteen minutes to refresh.
Garty took the time out as he did feel his head was spinning. He exits the room and pops in to see how Brill is faring in the stables. Brill nudges Garty and seems happy enough.
“I know, you want to take a ride into the hills and let your hair fly,” he says, patting the horse on its fine strong neck, feeling its sensitivity to his touch. Fodder and water are close by, so it is clear that his horse is being well watered and fed.
He is just a little restless, Garty feels.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he promises. “But we shall see,” he adds in case more informants turns up and folk gather again in order to reap a reward. What a fool I am, he thought. I should never have had the word 'reward' printed. Why didn’t I learn faster? He questioned everything he had been doing over the years and felt disappointment with his own progress again.
I am a dismal failure!
He walks back from the barns through the laneway at the side of the establishment and takes stock of the entrance to the inn where people are still milling about, sitting on bench seats, drinking apple juice in porcelain beakers, swilling tea and thick brown coffee in tiny cups.
Mrs Bouchée’s best presentation crockery fit for royalty is on display. How much could one of these cups cost me?
He had worried that she might have sent all the folk packing for fear of thieving and fighting eruption in her domicile. About ten people are waiting to be interviewed. He tips his hat and settles down to proceed. And so the afternoon progressed. At the end of the day he looks up to see if anyone else is waiting. The place seems almost deserted. Mrs Bouchée and a couple of helpers are busily cleaning up dishes with a clatter now that the hoard has departed to their homes.
Whilst gathering his notes, he notices a dark shadow near the door of the building. Just a glimpse in the window and then a figure in the open doorway glides cautiously into the room, he notes.
His guard shot up in case this may be a robbery. The person glides forward. She is like a china doll gliding on a smooth surface.
A woman wearing a black veil over her face, black gloves and a black shawl and long skirt with black boots, barely cobbled stands before him, trembling. This is rather odd.
Garty holds his breath and rests his thump on his pistol hidden on his hip as he looks into a darkened face, shielded by her black and ornate lace covering. He moves his hand to the mahogany desk, relieved.
Beyond the veil he sees her troubled soul. His heart melts momentarily with compassion.
She may be in dire need of financial assistance, a widow perhaps.
But, she does not attempt to sit down. She glances around briefly and then moves closer, looming over his space.
Garty looks into her eyes and waits. His eyelids feel heavy.
Is she hypnotising me? I must stay calm!
She barely says anything, much to his chagrin. He holds a coin between his fingers with his other hand. He listened intently as her hand moves alongside her lips to keep her words very private.
“Tomorrow, noon,” mysterious black eyes dart one hundred and eighty degrees and back to Garty’s gaze. Her lips are pursed. He can work that out between intricately woven patterns shielding her face. She presses something underneath his fingertips that touched his pistol butt a moment before. Before he may ask anything of her, she turns and with head bowed low, exits the Inn. Garty still has the silver coin between his forefinger and thumb.
“Well, I never saw that coming!” He murmurs in a whisper. She gave me something and took nothing? Questions jump into his mind immediately. Who is this woman? He did not get her name or address.
Does she have a vital clue that I cannot yet fathom? What will happen at twelve noon tomorrow?
“That’s it then?” Mrs Bouchée says, marching towards his table to remove his used dishes, cups and plate. “Clean up time at last,” she mutters as she smiles briefly, an unusual thing for her to do.
Relieved to see the heels of his last visitor no doubt, he reasons.
He could definitely agree with that sentiment!
“Thank you, Mrs Bouchée,” Garty says, rising, weariness flooding his veins. He shuffles the many pieces of paper and piles them as neatly as possible. He would now have to revise and check all bits of information no matter how large or small, and decide what would help in his quest. The small piece of paper with a map drawn in blackest charcoal lay underneath his thumb. He had no idea what it was all about.
“You go and refresh. Supper will be ready in about one hour,” Mrs Bouchée said. He noticed beads of perspiration on her crinkled forehead and appreciated her more. It seems that he was her special project. Her face beams with joy as the many visitors had been happy to spend their reward in her establishment. Some even booked a night at the inn. Business was booming, she repeated over and over again, and boasted that she was a good businesswoman who could detect a golden moment and capitalise on it! Garty had overheard her voice in high tones expressing her prowess in hospitality in the kitchen, out of his sight, but not of hearing. It made his heart burst with gladness for her wellbeing and success. Her cash register was filled with silver and gold coins and other monies, he noticed as she slipped another couple of coins into the safest place. Garty knew that she would make sure that most of the money was locked in her strong safe before nightfall.
God Bless her! He thought as he left the room.
Back in his quarters, Garty stares at the little piece of paper with the charcoal drawn map. He lit the lamp to inspect it more closely. An X marked one corner, a few 'v' shapes along with a squiggly line.
What on earth is this map about? Is my life on the line? Is this a cryptic warning for me?
He felt so tired as he stared at the small grubby piece that he moved to sit in the most comfortable chair and almost dozed off immediately. Jumping up pronto, his stomach churned with annoyance at his sleepiness. His inner man spoke sharply to his drifting thoughts. He determined to be more alert and investigate all possibilities before his commission and job were in jeopardy! Now is not the opportune time to be sleeping on the job, he muses wryly.
He snatched the jug of water near the basin and splashed some on his face, drying it with the fresh towel supplied. He awakened his senses somewhat. Looking at his damp image in the mirror, he spoke these words, “That’s better. Wake up man!”
He strolled around the well watered yard, smelling a glorious aroma of apples that made his mouth water as he passed by Mrs Bouchée’s flourishing apple trees.
Swiftly, he plucked a fine blushing pink apple and tucked it into his trouser pocket, feeling somewhat like a thief in a garden. But, nobody saw him, so taking a last breath of the invigorating aroma, he took a new route. He walked swiftly towards the stables sighting a young man in livery. He was diligently sweeping the floor of the stables. He was tall, extremely thin and his smile was a knockout. With hair that fell onto his face when he moved, Garty imagined his own youth being like this young lad, innocent and garish, awkward and full of life’s expectancies. Weariness would not come near him at this age, he mused with a tinge of jealousy over his lost youth.
He loitered nearby, thinking about the message in his fingers. The young man stares at him with a quizzical expression. Garty reaches out his big, manly right hand to the young man, “Garty Musdo on the King’s service.”
The young man almost bows to the floor. “Ted Bingy,” he says. “Pleased to meet you, Sir.” He wipes his hand on the side of his baggy olive green breeches and holds it out for Garty.
Following a manly handshake, Ted leaned both hands across each other on the tip of his broom handle and waited for Garty to continue the conversation.
“Are you a local?” Garty asked tentatively.
“Born and raised here, beyond those hills,” he says in a happy tone, pointing in an easterly direction.